


The Curious Ways of Mr. Fell and Crowley

by BardofEryn



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale taking people under his wing, Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Caring Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Crowley, Religion, Religious Guilt, Sad and Sweet, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Suicidal Thoughts, Whether Crowley likes it or not, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:15:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22345480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BardofEryn/pseuds/BardofEryn
Summary: When a young woman enters Mr. Fell's bookshop, trying to get the angel to smite her, she comes across an angel and a demon trying to come to terms with a new stage in their lives.Aziraphale and Crowley's life together as seen from an outsider's perspective.T for some swearing.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens) & Original Female Character(s), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 40





	The Curious Ways of Mr. Fell and Crowley

She had heard rumors.

Don’t go into Mr. Fell’s bookshop. Don’t try to buy the books. Do go there for healing. Don’t expect to stay long. Do bring food.

Most of all she heard that Mr. Fell was an angel. A wrathful angel who was fiercely protective of his tomes, but an angel nonetheless.

The bookshop was dark and clammy as she entered. She could smell mold and something like rotting meat. Despite all of this, the books were in pristine condition. Some of them looked like they’d never been so much as touched in their entire existences.

“We’re closed,” she heard a voice shout to her left. It wasn’t an angry voice like she’d expected. It was curt, but strangely kind and polite. Like a gracious host who has told you not to enter the study, but is willing to give you one more warning before sending you home.

She walked towards the voice, expecting to see some many-eyed, multi-winged monster. Instead, she stumbled around a pile of books and saw a middle aged gentleman carefully looking through a pair of small glasses at a giant, illustrated tome. He was a little on the chubbier side and had white-blond hair that was fluffed up so that he looked like a bird. He had a cup of cocoa in a white, wing-shaped mug that he occasionally sipped.

“Mr. Fell?” she asked.

“Hmm?” He looked up and his face fell. “I said we’re closed,” he repeated, this time a little more irritably.

“I - I heard that you were an angel.”

Mr. Fell set down his cocoa and looked at her over his glasses. “My dear, there’s debate over whether…”

“I want you to smite me.”

He blinked at her for a second, not fully comprehending. “I beg your pardon?”

She choked back tears. “I - I’m clearly evil. I don’t want to…” She gestured towards him. “This is your job isn’t it?”

Rather than answering her, he looked towards the back room. “Crowley,” he said. “I think you should come in here. There’s a woman asking me to smite her.”

“Wot?” came the answer from the back room. “Why the heaven would she want that?”

“Is he another angel?” she asked before Mr. Fell could get another word in.

He grimaced. “Not in the slightest,” he said before turning his head back towards Crowley. “I really could use some assistance, dear.”

“Fine. Give me a blessed second.” The sound of blankets being tossed off and shoes that weren’t quite shoes hitting the floor sounded from the back. A tall, red-headed man with sunglasses sauntered in from the backroom, his gait strangely boneless. “What’cha want?” he asked, his head turned towards Mr. Fell. “Scary face? Sounds like the deepest depths of hell? Could make her go blind, but that would keep her from leaving the shop faster.”

Mr. Fell sighed deeply. “I don’t mean to harm her.”

Crowley tilted his head to one side. “Mn, nothing harmful about sounds from the depths of hell.” He furrowed his brow. “…Well, physically at least.”

“I meant,” he huffed, “you can sense evil.”

“Thanks for stating things we both know,” Crowley said.

“This is for her information.”

He gaped at him. “What? The human’s?” he said, gesturing dismissively at her.

“I’m not human. I’m a demon!”

Crowley let out a hoarse laugh. “And I’m Pope Clement VII. C’mon. Get out.”

“Do you sense evil in her?” Mr. Fell prompted.

“Do you think I’d let an evil person in your shop?” he shot back. “Been monitoring this whole time. Some sadsacks, but not anyone _evil_.”

“Including this person, here.”

“Yes,” he said in tone that suggested Mr. Fell should have caught onto this five minutes ago. “Including this person, here,” he mimicked. He raised an eyebrow. “Have you gone deaf since we had tea?”

Mr. Fell sighed. “He’s always a little cranky if you wake him up from his nap,” he commented, giving her an apologetic look out of the corner of his eye.

“Serves you right for waking me up. I was just starting to dream about…” He paused then pushed his sunglasses up his nose. “Never mind.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Should I show her the door?”

“Not quite yet.” He turned back towards the woman. “You see? You now have it on excellent authority that you’re not evil.”

“Did I just get roped into one of your _good deeds_?” he asked, making the last words sound like curses.

“I’ll help tempt someone for you later.”

“Then why do I have panic attacks in church?” she said, tears falling down her cheeks. “Why do I not feel God’s love?”

The two men glanced at each other. “Well…” they both said at the same time, then stopped to let the other finish. After a few seconds, they started up again simultaneously.

“Y’see the thing is…”

“Her plans are…”

“…God doesn’t really do the whole…”

“… ineffable. I know that’s not a…”

“… hands-on method of creation. Didn’t even…”

“… very satisfying answer, but I’m afraid it’s…”

“… check the notes before sending us all down in a lot during…

“ … the only answer we truly have. I believe that she loves…”

“… the Fall.”

“… all her creations.”

“Does that make any sense?”

“No,” she replied, still trying to sort out the cacophony of words she’d just experienced.

Mr. Fell furrowed his brow. “Come here, my dear,” he said, stretching out a hand for her.

She stepped forwards, her eyes closed tightly. She braced herself for lightning or fire or whatever smiting really was. Instead, she felt soft, warm fingers against her temple.

“Relax,” Mr. Fell said. “I shan’t hurt you.”

Her head suddenly felt like it was being bathed in warm water. She relaxed into the feeling, letting her head sink.

“Oh,” Mr. Fell whispered. “Crowley, look at this.”

She heard the slight squeak of leather pants moving closer.

“Demonic in nature?”

“Nah, just plain old humans being bastards,” he said. His tone was softer now, less threatening. “Poor kid.”

“M’not a kid,” she said, fighting against the floating feeling.

“Yeah, but you were when that lot told you all this,” Crowley said. He whistled. “That’ll leave a mark.”

“What do you think? Remove it completely?”

“Don’t think you can, angel. Sort of woven in.” He snorted. “And you think _my_ lot are bad.”

“Do you mean fixing me?” she asked. “But you can’t. I’m…”

“If I hear the word ‘evil’ leave your lips one more time, child, I shall scrub your mouth out with soap,” Mr. Fell snapped.

“Now who’s being the bastard?”

“Oh, do be quiet!” He removed his fingers from her temple.

She slowly came back into a more conscious state. As she opened her eyes, she saw that Mr. Fell’s were red and puffy. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, unconsciously reaching for the pack of tissues she kept in her pocket. “I didn’t mean…”

“Yeah, wouldn’t do that,” Crowley said. “Start apologizing and you’ll just make it worse.” He took her by the shoulder. “C’mon. I’ll make you some cocoa while he processes.” He guided her towards the backroom. Unlike the rest of the bookshop, this place was cozy and clean. It smelled like a strange mixture of pine, peppermint, and old leather. He sat her down on an worn love seat and unceremoniously draped a woolen blanket with a blue and brown tartan pattern over her. “You tell anyone that I was nice to you,” he hissed, pointing a long, skinny finger at her. “And I’ll…” He stopped for a moment, trying to come up with a suitable threat. It was taking him an unusually long time. “Jus’… Demon. Got it?”

Her eyes widened. “You’re a demon?”

He smirked. “Best this side of Hell,” he said before slithering off to make cocoa.

She raised an eyebrow. “Demons make cocoa?”

“You needn’t tell the whole blessed world,” he muttered sourly as he heated the milk.

Mr. Fell appeared in the doorway. His white-blond hair was even more messed up than when she’d come into the bookshop, but his eyes were less red. “Right,” he said, fixing his gaze on her. “Crowley, have you got the milk going?”

“Three steps ahead of you, angel.”

“Excellent!” He crossed the room and sat down in a worn, leather chair that seemed formed especially for him. “I’ve made a call.”

She froze, clutching at the blanket.

“Ah, terribly sorry. To a friend. You see, I’m a bit old fashioned.” He glanced at Crowley, who had started making a noise like air being randomly let out of a balloon. “Laugh all you like, my dear. I’m perfectly aware that I’m not ‘hip.’”

He made a sound like a duck quacking and then pressed his lips together. “Sorry,” he said, his mouth a crooked grin. “Just… understatement of the century.”

“In any case,” he said, turning back towards her. “I believe this issue needs a more modern, human hand to help. If Alphonse can translate that Old German text better than I can, he can do anything.”

“You do realize she’s not an ancient manuscript, right?” Crowley asked. He looked at Mr. Fell over his sunglasses.

She shrank back. His eyes were a golden yellow with slitted black pupils.

Mr. Fell ignored him. “However, as he’s currently busy at work, I propose that you spend some time here. Perhaps take a nap.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but Crowley did it for her. “No!” he exclaimed, brandishing the whisk at him. “C’mon, angel. Feeding her cocoa is one thing, but where would we keep her?”

“In the bedroom upstairs.”

“What bedroom…?”

The sound of creaking, warping wood filled the air. Warm light flickered on in a stairway that she would have sworn was not there five seconds ago.

“The bedroom upstairs,” he repeated.

“Oh, you bas-”

“Ah! Not in front of our guest,” he interrupted with a smug look.

She could almost feel the glare Crowley was giving Mr. Fell. He began speaking in a strange guttural language. Whatever he was saying, it didn’t sound nice.

Mr. Fell gave him a look. “Now who’s being old fashioned?”

“Allughat la tazal tahadath alyawm,“ he replied as he pulled a tartan-patterned mug from the cupboard. “Unlike Old German.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’ll find the room quite comfortable,” he said, turning his attention back to her. “And I suspect you’re going to feel very sleepy soon.”

As if on cue, her brain began to fog. She snuggled further into the blanket.

“Ah, no, my dear. Upstairs,” he said gently.

She tried to open her eyes, or at least start getting up off the loveseat, but found she was too tired.

“Think you overdid it,” Crowley murmured sourly.

“I suppose I did.”

She heard the creak of floorboards and felt soft, strong arms scoop underneath her. They lifted her up.

“Show off.”

“Necessity,” Mr. Fell corrected.

She snuggled into Mr. Fell's waistcoat and relaxed completely. The next thing she felt was the warmth of a soft bed.


End file.
